


no body, no crime

by thesurielships



Series: evermore [5]
Category: Blood and Ash Series - Jennifer L. Armentrout
Genre: F/M, Murder, attorney!Casteel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesurielships/pseuds/thesurielships
Summary: I think he did it, but I just can't prove it (he did it)I think he did it, but I just can't prove it (he did it)I think he did it, but I just can't prove itNo, no body, no crimeBut I ain't lettin' up until the day I die
Relationships: Poppy Balfour/Casteel Da'Neer
Series: evermore [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058630
Kudos: 12





	no body, no crime

It was a grey day when Poppy marched into the Atlantia firm, an imposing building of grey stone and grey marble and massive windows reflecting the grey clouds in the sky.

Everything had turned grey the day Este had disappeared, donning the color of mourning like a cloak.

Everything but Este’s house two blocks from hers, where her husband and his mistress erected a jolly Christmas tree and gilded the gardens in glittering lights.

Poppy walked past the receptionist and the security guards; or rather they got out of her way. She was a woman on a mission, and in her white suit and red high heels clicking as she prowled towards the elevators, she looked the part.

The secretary jumped out of his seat as she ignored him as well, and didn’t knock before she walked into the office of Mr Casteel Da’neer, Esquire.

The attorney was facing the windows, speaking on his phone, but he turned as she sauntered in, the protesting secretary on her heels.

“She –”

“You can leave, Delano.”

His voice was sharp, dismissive, and carried such authority that Poppy shivered. She came to the right place.

He adjusted his suit as he settled in his leather throne and gestured for her to do the same. She sat in a small chair that was a lot more comfortable that it seemed.

“How may I help you?”

“I have a murderer for you.”

A dimple appeared. “A present? For me? It’s not even my birthday yet.”

“I am a generous client.”

He hummed, his eyes studying her from head to toe. “What’s the story?”

“My friend was killed by her husband.”

“When?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“How?”

She cocked a brow. “If I had seen it, I wouldn’t be here.”

He tapped his pen against his palm. “What proof do you have?”

“I think he did it, but I just can’t prove it.”

At least, she couldn’t prove it to the authorities. But she had known, ever since she had gone looking for Este at her job, at Olive Garden, anywhere she could think of, and had received a call from the police.

He had reported his wife missing, the same day his mistress moved in and his truck acquired new tires.

The attorney smirked. “You think?”

She raised her chin defiantly. “I know.”

He stared at her for a long moment, cunning calculation clear in his golden gaze, his gilded initials glittering on his twirling pen. “How do I know this isn’t just a wild goose chase?”

She shrugged. “It’s your job to catch the goose, wild or not.”

Tap, tap, tap, went the pen. “Why me?”

She subjected him to her own assessing gaze. Her eyes lingered on his big hands pressing his pen into his desk, the watch on his left wrist, the freshly ironed black suit.

A second dimple graced the room with its presence. He enjoyed her scrutiny.

“I hear you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.”

A dark brow rose. “Will there be dirt?”

“Maybe not. But there will be digging.”

She watched him as he leaned back into his chair, pretending to be considering her offer.

But Poppy already knew she had him. He was hooked on the promise of a puzzle that couldn’t be cracked, on the thrill of a bloody, dirty chase. His eyes were luminous with anticipation, his pen resuming its relentless dance on the desk.

“What if I fail?”

“I’m surprised that word is in your vocabulary.”

“You’ve got to learn the language of your enemies,” he replied with a delighted smirk. “So?”

“So,” she repeated. “You get your money.”

“And you let the case rest?”

She flicked an invisible piece of lint off her suit. “Sure.”

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “What’s your plan B?”

Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the small smirk that curved her lips. “There is no plan B.”

He clearly didn’t believe her, but that was the honest truth.

There was no plan B.

Este’s husband would pay, and she wasn’t letting up until the day he died.


End file.
